attention, because he was a fashionable young man. One morning when he called upon Wharton to accompany him to the House of Commons, he found Mrs. Wharton in tears, her husband walking up and down the room in evident ill-humour. He stopped speaking when Vivian entered; and Mrs. Wharton endeavoured, or seemed to endeavour, to conceal her emotion. She began to play on her harp; and Wharton, addressing himself to Vivian, talked of the politics of the day. There was some incoherence in the conversation; for Vivian’s attention was distracted by the air that Mrs. Wharton was playing, of which he was passionately fond. “There’s no possibility of doing any thing while there is such a cursed noise in the room!” cried Wharton. “Here I have the heads of this bill to draw up--I cannot endure to have music wherever I go--” He snatched up his papers and retired to an adjoining apartment, begging that Vivian would wait one quarter of an hour for him.--Mrs. Wharton’s tears flowed afresh, and she looked beautiful in tears. “You see--you see, Mr. Vivian--and I am ashamed you should see--how I am treated.--I am, indeed, the most unfortunate creature upon the face of the earth; and nobody in this world has the least compassion for me!” Vivian’s countenance contradicted this last assertion most positively.--Mrs. Wharton understood this; and her attitude of despondency was the most graceful imaginable. “My dear Mrs. Wharton”--(it was the first time our hero had ever called her “his dear Mrs. Wharton;” but it was only a platonic dear)--“you take trifles much too seriously--Wharton was hurried by business--a moment’s impatience must be forgiven.” “A moment!” replied Mrs. Wharton, casting up to heaven her beautiful eyes--“Oh! Mr. Vivian, how little do you know of him!--I am the most miserable creature that ever existed; but there is not a man upon earth to whom I would say so except yourself.” Vivian could not help feeling some gratitude for this distinction; and, as he leaned over her harp with an air of unusual interest, he said he hoped that he should ever prove himself worthy of her esteem and confidence. At this instant Wharton interrupted the conversation, by passing hastily through the room.--“Come, Vivian,” said he; “we shall be very late at the house.” “We shall see you again of course at dinner,” said Mrs. Wharton to Vivian in a low voice. Our hero replied by an assenting bow.